Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1887-10-08
ICopurfQhted, ISL


staggered into it one day -begone
stranger who commanded instant and
universal attention. He appeared to be
on the verge of starvation. He was gaunt
and wild-eyed; his beard was long and
matted, his hair was in the same con-
dition; his garments hung in threads
from his skeleton-like figure. Never be-
fore had similar object calling itself
human entered gold camp.
In response to thousand queries
showered upon him at once, the wretched
man said his name was Archibald Hut
ton, and when he had gathered little
strength, thanks to the provisions set be-
fore him, he told startling story. He
was the last survivor of party of pros
pectors who had been lured into the
mountains by tale of a marvellous gold
mine said to exist there. They had pushed
for days deep and deeper into verita-
BILE terra incOgnita In their possession
was map, through the assistance of
which they expected to reach the treas
ure, and reach it they did, so the man
averred, just as winter closed in around
them. 1t was terrible winter. The
party built cabin at the mouth of the
mine and tried to hold out till spring.
One by one they sickened and died, leav-
ing the narrator alone when the change
came. He did not attempt to bury the
dead, but left them in the cabin when he
deserted it to drag himself at last almost
dead into Denver.
Briefly, such was the story thestarveling
told. He only wanted little strength,
he said, to go back and locate the mine.
True, he had not the map, but he was
sure that he could lead a party to it. He
described the way as well as he could,
and drew for a number of eager men a
duplicate of the map from memory. The
gold hylter did not recover his strength.
Several days after his appearance in
Denver he grew delirious and died.
Breath had hardly left his body ere lot
of men were off after the Lost Cabin
mine. They had the mans narrative and
the rough map to guide them.
Weeks and months passed away, and
the Denverites did not return. Their
guest became legendary, and at last their
names were forgotten. But the name,
"Lost Cabin mine," was not permitted to
die. Every now and then little parties
of men would start off on mysterious
mission. The camps that had known
them never knew them again. The story
of the starving wretch had sunk deeper
than anybody dreamed of, and the lost
mine, faced with a cabin full of dead
mems bones, had become the most fatal
of all the gold allurements of the far
West. 1t has never been found to this
day, and its spectral gold lies just be-
yond the fingers of those who have died
on it's trail.
The mountains of the far West are the
repositories of innumerable mines of
spectral wealth. Some of the fabulous
stories told around the fires of the gold
camps discount the marvellous narratives
of the Arabian Nights. Hundreds of
men have died on these spectral trails,
and hundreds more will perish on them.
IL Is d vi SOlu W
upon rich placer which will become a
Comstock or Led Horse claim. He is
ready to listen to any kind of nara
tive A legend does just as well as &C
tual discovery. He is off in jiffy, some
times with companions as eager as him
self, but oftentimes alone. Very often he
comes not back to tell the story of failure,
for failure it always is. The perils that
lurk in the unknown region into which
he plunges, Indians, the grizzly, hunger,
cold, and a thousand other dangers, keep
his lips from breaking to other dupes who
come after him the story of spectral gold.
That lost mines do exist there is no
doubt; but they are never found. For
years men have sought for the old mines
worked by the Spaniards who found
their way into New Mexico. Some of
these mines produced fabulous amounts
of gold, if New Mexican chronicles can
be believed; their old owners took great
pains to conceal them, and modern
search is proof of their success. 1t is
said that when the mines ceased to be
worked the workmen were killed among
the treasure and the shafts filled up, thus
concealing for all time their location.
As I have said, the lost mines of New
Mexico have allured hundreds of adven-
turers, just as the gold-tiled houses drew
De Soto deeper into the forest labyrinth,
and they are as lost to-day as they were
Q century ago.
/ have heard from the lips of gold
hunters more than one story of these
spectral mines. Your bearded, bronzed
and rough-shirted gold seeker is credu-
lous and, generally, superstitious. He
never turns deaf ear to any story con-
nected with gold. He will quit paying
claim and turn his face toward an un-
known region just because rumor of
wonderful placers has reached camp. A
dirty Indian who has strolled in, savage
with deception looking out of his eyes,
is often enough to stampede whole set
Element.
1t is generally conceded that an Indian
is not the most truthful of human crea-
ton. When he prevaricates it is usually
for purpose. Miners who have been
lured from camps by Indian stories of
rich gold fields have been found in out
of-the-way places with their skulls cloven,
and their bodies stripped of everything
valuable. The "untutored savage" knows
the white mans greed for the precious
metal, and his WELCOMED story of spec
trail gold is enough to bring about a
tragedy which is never avenged.
An Indian once appeared in a gold
camp in the Upper Big Horn mountains
with a plausible story He had he said